


Schwann's Accidental Vacation

by Magicmetslogic



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Fluff, Gen, I'll note in the beginning of the chapter in which it occures, In Which Schwann Oltorain Gets Some Much Needed Rest, It's mostly pretty fluffy and casual though!, Only a little bit though because Alexei is a jerk, Original Character(s), Pre-Canon, Sickfic, Spoiler warning for Baction, Spoilers, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25213975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magicmetslogic/pseuds/Magicmetslogic
Summary: While getting sick was far from ideal, Schwann must admit that it was nice to get to spend time with his men. Throughout his week of suffering, he also stumbles across the chance to aquaint with the charming young empress-to-be and a certain lower quarter troublemaker.
Relationships: Schwann Oltorain & Leutenant Leblanc
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	Schwann's Accidental Vacation

It was a gloriously shining day in Zaphias. The sky was clear blue, there was nary a cloud in the sky, and the castle gleamed, practically blinding the people walking by if they looked at it right. Truly, it was a gorgeous day, and Raven felt like shit. And not in the normal way that people felt like shit, like when they’re hungover or sleep-deprived (Admittedly, it wouldn’t be hard to believe that he was both at this time if someone glanced at his face). 

Nah, this was the metaphorical king of shit’s, the philosophical embodiment of shittiness. 

That could just be because he was returning to Zaphias though. 

Maybe it was just the lingering effects of running through the sewers that ran underneath Zaphias Castle, who’s stench he could taste in his mouth and seemed to stick to Raven like a sentient cloud of nastiness. Or maybe it was just the thought of having to report back to Alexei. 

As of late, the Commandant has been issuing many an order, thus forcing poor old Raven to run back and forth from Dahngrest and Zaphias for what felt like months now. What Alexei was planning, he had no idea, but mostly he was surprised at how indecisive the commandant was proving to be. 

…Hah.

The Commandant was nothing but decisive. He knew exactly what he wanted, what he was doing, and if that meant running his poor bones into the ground, then so be it. The recently increased workload from both the Don and Alexei boded only conflict, and he’d likely in the middle of it. 

Ah, verily, after all is said and done, the poets of great would undoubtedly write of his many hardships and sacrifices. 

“Woe to Raven the great, much beloved by all across the world, whom was torn between two masters orders in a political tug of war. 

Many sleepless nights and hard craps he faced in the midst of this while satisfying everyone but himself. So high were his towers of paperwork, so long were the miles he tramped across the world, and so so so many lonely battles he endured in his fight for survival, all the while only desiring someone to love, to cherish, to hold and be held by. 

Ah yes, woe to Raven the Great.”

Hm. It would need a bit of work but it’s on the right track. 

_ Oh well,  _ he thought, sighing,  _ it is what it is.  _

And whatever it was, it would have to wait. 

Raven suppressed a shiver as he peeked around the corner and returned, pressing flat against the frigid inner castle wall. One guard, making their patrols 20 feet down the hallway, back towards Raven, and behind them, Schwann’s living quarters. He peeked once more around the corner, just to make sure they were still heading down the hallway, and then silently and slowly stepped into the intersection, gently placing first the ball of his foot and then lowering his heel.

One step, two steps, three steps, four…

Another quick glance down the hallway and then he slowly turns the knob, opens the door, and slips inside the frame, with only a subtle  _ ka-click _ to give away his presence.

Nice, infiltration successful.

Raven lets out a loud  _ whoosh _ of a sigh and then turns to peruse the valiant captain Schwann’s bedroom. What hit him first, as always, was the cold. Well, that and the dust that thinly coated much of the furniture and the specks that floated aimlessly in the minimal lighting. Immediately across the way from the door, pressed against the right wall, he could see a desk and bookshelves, and behind them, some heavy dark patterned drapes that concealed most of the large paned arched windows hidden behind, excluding about a foot of the rounded top. Parallel to the desk, against the left wall, was a seldom-used fireplace which held only grey ash, and finally, a tidily made bed that was shoved in the corner against the front wall, and nestled to its right was a nightstand with a small glass vase with a few dried firelillies in them. If they were fresh, the brilliant red and orange petals would have brought some much needed life to the room. As they were, however, brown and shriveled, it only enhanced the emptiness and neglect.

Raven stood still in front of the doorway for a moment, and then he walked through the doorway right of him, into the restroom, and then into the closet to get changed. 

* * *

Schwann rubbed his eyes tiredly. As always, speaking with the Commandant was, to say the least, a very delicate matter. Having since reported in with his superior and checked in on the ever-growing stack of neglected paperwork which nestled itself a bit too comfortably in his office, however, he had only practice with the brigade left on his agenda before he could retire for the evening. He’d need the rest later. A shiver went down his spine just thinking about the tower. While there were amusing ones every so often, such as an indignant report written by Adecor and Boccos on a young Mr. Lowell pushing them in the lower quarter river, the majority were simple, dry, and drab reports of the standard fare. Until then, however… 

His boots clicked rhythmically against the cold stone floors of the castle, headache pounding in time, as he made his way towards the barracks. Hopefully, training won’t take too long today. A few steps further, stepping through the heavy wooden door that led to the training yards, and he was there. He raised a hand to block the blinding sun, and after a few moments of his eyes adjusting, he was met with a wave of grunting, sweaty soldiers striking at wooden dummies. He was late. 

In front of him, beneath a shaded canopy which led along the wall and across the way, stood his Lieutenant, LeBlanc, yelling drill instructions like clockwork. Schwann couldn’t help the barest bit of a smile from crossing his face as another round of “ONE! TWO! THREE!” and so on blast from LeBlanc’s mouth in an explosion of sound. Schwann strolled his way towards LeBlanc, analyzing his troops as he crossed through the shade and finally made his way to his lieutenant's side. 

“Good day, Lieutenant,” said Schwann, subtly smiling as LeBlanc jumps at his voice. It seemed his man has been so focused on the drills he hadn’t noticed Schwann walking over. 

“C-Captain Schwann, sir!” he sputters, and then inhales deeply, turns towards those at practice, and cries out a resounding “ **ATTENTION!!!** ”. Schwann suppresses a wince of pain, the shout reverberating in his ears and shooting through his head. Even after several years of service under him, Schwann still finds himself impressed by LeBlanc’s volume. 

His Lieutenant's baritone echos through the yard, inciting a series of scuffling stomps to resound as one as his men turn and stand at attention.“Captain Schwann, sir! We were running through a few basic drills, sir!” 

“So I see. Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said, before turning towards his brigade. “At ease.” With their captain’s words, practice resumes. 

Schwann starts stepping off the shaded pathway into the practice yard but is cut short by Leblanc clearing his throat from behind Schwann. “Er, Captain? If I may be forward, you don’t look well. Are you feeling ok?” 

He tries, with monumental effort, to compose his face into an unreadable mask, to hide the pounding headache and the sweat rolling down his face. Achiness and weariness seem to permeate his bones and drag him into the ground. Just a bit longer, he thinks, and then I can rest. He’s had years of practice in hiding his emotions behind a mask, but Leblanc’s knowing and worried stare tell him it’s done in vain. After almost a decade of working with each other, he should have expected it. And yet.

“I assure you, Leblanc, I’m well enough to visit with my men.” 

“...Understood, sir.” 

Loyalty bid his lieutenant listen to him, but Leblanc’s discomfort was evident. Still, however, he stood straight and eyes forward, awaiting his next instruction. Something twinged at Schwann’s heart. Leblanc was always dutiful and attentive, and loyal to a fault, especially considering Schwann was his captain, in addition to him essentially running the brigade the majority of the time he was away, a frequent event. He deserved more than a mere dismissal. 

“...I promise I will be sure to attend to myself soon enough, Leblanc. Simply a few more moments the brigade, then...” his words faded and a ghost of a smile graced his face, small enough that those not paying attention would easily miss it, while the clack of wood on wood signaled the resume of practice. 

Leblanc huffs a small fond sigh. “Understood, sir.”

After a brief nod of appreciation towards Leblanc, Schwann steps off the raised edge of the shaded pathway and into the full glare of the sun, instinctually raising a gauntleted hand to block the strong light. After a few moments of his eyes adjusting, the full force of the surrounding energy hits him. Clacks and grunts of exertion resound as he beholds the full force of a brigade at work. 

He strolls through the organized chaos, Leblanc following at his side, and begins analyzing the efforts of his men. Some were paired off, donned in protective gear and sparring with wooden spears, while others were doing drills against wooden dummies. One soldier caught his eye. A swipe to the left, a lunge toward their motionless foe, a subtle swiveling shift in their stance, a parry, and finally a killing slash to the neck. It was well executed. From the soldier’s footwork to the fluid striking of their spear, Schwann could tell they poured many hours into their form. 

“…Well done.” 

The soldier stumbles partway through the next round of the drill, swinging around to face the surprise voice, eyes wide and accidentally brandishing the spear towards Schwann and Leblanc. He’d surprised them it seems (Charlot, his name was, if memory serves right), and smoothly takes a step out of the awry spears reach. After waving aside Charlot’s sputtering “I’m so sorry, sir” and “Thank you, sir”, and pushing down a brush of dizziness, they continue down the rows of his guard at practice. 

They make their way through the brigade, Schwann watching with an eagle’s eye and pausing every so often to offer a curt piece of advice. 10 minutes passed, then 15, then 20... Schwann could feel sweat gathering under his metal armor, helped none by the bright noon sun searing above. Leblanc’s rapidly increasing anxious glances towards his face let him know just as well as his choking collar and parched tongue that he should soon retire. A shame that he never came. 

He starts turning towards the door that leads back inside the castle, but a playful shout of “Leaving so soon, old man?” halts him. Ah, there he is. Leblanc sighs and shakes his head beside him, already resigned to what was to come, and Schwann can’t help a pang of sympathy for his subordinate mixed with equal parts amusement. “I’ll try to make it quick,” he whispers to LeBlanc and turns to meet his challenger.

Fast approaching was a young man with dark wild red hair and sharp green eyes with dark freckles speckling the bridge of his nose and cheeks. Theo. 

“You chickening out, old man? That’s unlike you,” says Theo, grinning mischievously. 

“I waited for 20 minutes. Don’t keep me waiting next time.” The words were cold, but a small, fond grin graced Schwann’s normally stoic face. 

Years ago, Theo had challenged Schwann to prove his strength, believing him soft and out of touch with his brigade due to the long weeks that he was gone from the capital and away from his brigade on special missions for the Commandant. However, as the years progressed, it’s become far removed from its initially malicious roots and turned into a source of comradery between him and Theo, and a source of entertainment for the rest of the brigade. A sparring session, hosted after every time Schwann returns to Zaphias. 

The two stroll towards the sparring square, one on each side and make their way to their respective sparring gear racks. There were two racks, one for armor and one for wooden practice weapons, and a barrel filled with still dark water with a small tankard hooked on the side. Schwann unbuckles the hot armor from his shoulder and arms, and gives them an experimental roll, briefly allowing himself a relieved sigh before turning towards the training pad rack. After a few moments of reluctantly eyeing the thick leather armor, he swiftly don’s and adjusts the protective gear. After briefly downing a cup of water (not nearly enough), he calls over to Theo. 

“Weapon of choice?” 

Across the way, Schwann hears a snort. “Swords, as usual, please.”

He quickly grabs a wooden blade, gives it a few practice swings, and shoves on a helmet, a bulky thing crosshatched with metal bars that covered the entirety of one’s head and impeded some vision, before finally making his way toward the center of the square, ready to face his contender in battle. To the side, Leblanc lines up, ready to start the match. He, as usual, will be their referee. Theo marches up to the square, a carefree swagger in his step. 

“Why do you always ask that anyway? We always choose swords, “says Theo, raising his glaive with his right hand and widening his stance to prepare for battle a few feet away from him. 

Schwann gives him a level stare. “Courtesy is to be expected for all members of the Imperial Knights, especially-” 

“Yeah yeah, I know, ’Practice courtesy and thoughtfulness in every endeavor to serve the people and the empire’” recites Theo, waving the words away. “They had it pounded into my head when I first started. Come on though, let’s get to it!”

A minute smile ghosts Schwann’s lips. “Once you are finished speaking, perhaps we shall,” he says, settling into a battle stance of his own. One wider and lower than Theo’s, with the wooden sword nestled in his left hand, held aloft to his side. 

“READY? 3! 2! 1! FIGHT!” Leblanc’s shout echoes through the training yard, and so begins the battle.

Schwann strikes first, dashing in with a sharp stab to his torso’s left side. He’s almost there, when a wave of dizziness makes him waver, sword tip dropping slightly. Momentum sends him forward though, and he’s close enough to see Theo’s pupils contract, and then-

He disappears from sight? No. To the right. 

Schwann grinds his feet in the rough gravel and spins in place, sword slashing in front of him to solidly CRACK against Theo’s. It seemed his foe had taken the moment he wavered to turn perpendicular and slash at Schwann’s unprotected right side. That was close.

A few dashes back and the distance between them restored. 

Already sweat was pooling in Schwann’s palm, and it was getting harder to see straight. He’d promised Leblanc he’d make this quick, and quick it would have to be if he were to achieve victory. Schwann glances him over, looking for openings or faults. A few plausible ones, but he was largely well protected. Years of sparring has made them familiar with each other’s habits as well, so while he can predict Theo’s movements, so can Theo his own. Enough thinking, it was time for action. 

This time he goes with something simple, an overhead slash, quickly blocked with a raise of Theo’s arm. 

Hm. To be expected. 

Schwann follows through the block, easily sliding off of Theo’s blade, and goes for a quick leftward slice across his foe’s midriff. 

To no avail. He steps out of reach, almost anticipating the move, and waves his sword lazily towards Schwann’s head as he retreats. Despite the strike being halfhearted at best, he hears the faint gust of a sword swinging far too close to his helmet. 

Schwann is panting now, his vision swimming in front of him. A distant murmuring. Theo’s saying something. What? 

“What was that?” he repeats. 

Theo sighs, and Schwann can imagine the exasperated look behind his helmet. “I said ‘Are you sure you’re feeling up to this, old man?’ To be honest you’re breathing pretty hard there. Is your age finally getting to you?” 

Schwann grunts. “I’m fine. Let’s just finish this.” 

Another sigh echo’s behind Theo’s helmet. “Alriiiight, if you’re sure,” he starts, hesitant at first but the sharp mischievous glint in his eye soon returning. “I’ll wrap this up quick then since you insist!” With a wild grin and a joy for battle, he springs forward to finish off his captain. 

Ahh, once a troublemaker, always a troublemaker. Schwann sighs, breathes in, out, and then prepares for his last clash against his opponent. The final one, because he knows that any longer and he won’t be able to continue. 

Theo slides close, swinging wide from the right. A step back and a simple parry does the trick. 

Next, continuing his rightward momentum, Theo loops it around high and slashes down in a left to right diagonal towards Schwann’s neck. 

Half a step back, and then a quick stab at Theo’s upper left chest, an area left unprotected by the rightward momentum he can’t stop in time. Or so Schwann thought. 

Theo spins, much how Schwann did not too long ago, and the sword barely grazes past his chest, now parallel with the blade. And-

Theo switched hands. 

Seconds still. Theo dances back, distancing himself for his last strike. Schwann turns to block, but his knees give out from under him, calves cramping. He can’t move. 

His opponent is in position, and in a final slash, he snaps his blade towards Schwann, intending to hit his torso. Instead, with Schwann’s falling, it cracks against his head, jolting pain, nausea, dizziness, all through his head and down his stomach. Distantly, fighting through a black fog rapidly closing in, he sees his helmet careen towards the side of the arena. 

Ringing fills his ears, high-pitched and keening, fading in and out as he struggles through the waves of unconsciousness and behind that, quiet undecipherable murmurings. The ground jolts towards him, but something soft presses against his chest, holding him up. He looks down; a hand. He trails it up and LeBlanc’s face swims into focus, brow knotted and eyes sharp with both anger and concern. Then it’s Theodore, helmet off now and revealing worry in shining eyes, and in the distance fast approaching is Anita, Raoul, faces blurred, waves of faces and noise he can neither see nor hear and the ground comes for him.

All turns black.

**Author's Note:**

> I know that it ends with him passing out at the end of the chapter but I promise that it gets better. 
> 
> Also if you noticed "hard craps", congratulations! You discovered a joke that cropped up when my friend Propinkest was beta-reading this chapter. The original line was "hand cramps" but Raven complaining about his constipation in a poem he wrote about his woes was too in character to pass up.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! ^^


End file.
